Twelve is an Important Age
by Steph-Schell
Summary: Miles is on a deadline and he has to make it back home.


It took everything Miles had not to fall asleep in the ditch. He was exhausted and this stupid search party was taking too long. Still, they eventually made it past him. He thanked Laura's god as he heard the voices get further and further away. Getting out of the ditch with only one working arm was a bitch and a half but he made it.

Let it never be said that Miles Matheson could not engineer a good escape. He stripped off his jacket and shirt and grabbed a pair of sticks. He used his shirt to splint and sling his arm. A broken wrist was hell but it had helped him slip the cuffs. "Stupid torturers," he muttered. "Never help your captive."

Miles grunted as he slipped the sleeves over his head. Three weeks in a prison camp had wrecked his body but he had to get home. There were important things to do there. The camp was to the west, he knew that. It took him a moment but Miles soon got his bearing and started walking.

As he hiked he thought about his circumstances. The safe house he'd been raiding had only been a few days from camp. It shouldn't have been that hard to clear out. The two soldiers had been damn lucky and he had been damn stupid. Thank god the rest of the unit had been stupider than him. Now he needed to make it home.

Laura would probably be worried by now. Not frantic just yet but certainly worried. It was hard to know who she would lean on. They weren't close enough for Laura to go to her own family so she would probably lean on his. And she would need to lean on them. He and Laura worked great as a team but these days they tended to be off kilter when not around each other. Miles supposed that was what married life was like.

Bass would certainly help Laura in any way possible. He liked feeling useful. And he loved Lucas almost as much as Miles and Laura. Bass would be worried as much as Laura too. Possibly more so. Miles was really the only one thing keeping Bass in the camp. Well, him and Mason. And probably the grandkids. But Miles had the most pull. People would listen to Miles if he said Bass had to stay. And Miles had said so many times.

As he cooked his dinner that night, Miles thought about Charlie and her kids. What were they? His grandnieces and nephews? He was their great uncle right? It didn't matter. They would be wondering where he was too. Maybe not the youngest. She was only four. But the oldest was eight. He might wonder why Miles was missing when Charlie and Mason were home. It wasn't something they were used to and they did play with Lucas a lot. It was hard to say how worried Charlie was. She did value family very highly but Mason was probably wearing himself out trying to keep her calm. Poor bastard.

Miles wondered how Rachel was coping. She was the one that usually kept an eye on Lucas when Miles and Laura had to lead the troops. But she also had friction with Laura. Miles stayed the hell out of that. Getting involved in a woman's fight was a sure way to get a black eye or worse when his wife was involved. Miles wondered if Rachel was worried about him. They had a stormy past but he thought that was behind them. He hoped that was behind them. Still, it wasn't in him to dwell that much.

All during the three day trek, Miles refused to think of his son. Lucas was in a camp filled to the brim with soldiers. Hell, Laura alone was just as deadly as Miles. Worse when her boy was threatened. Lucas couldn't be safer anywhere else in the country. Miles had to focus on keeping himself alive. He would make it home. It was just a matter of staying alive until he got there.

Miles spotted the smoke from the cooking fires on the third day as he came up on the stream they had been using for fresh water. He knelt by the stream to take a good look at his reflection. He certainly couldn't go in looking like this. There was nothing he could do about his hair or scruff but he could at least wash up. He bent down to get some water to splash his face.

"Miles!"

He looked up to see Charlie standing there. "What, you've never seen a wounded man before?"

"Oh, Miles."

Charlie launched herself into his arms. "Ooh, easy, Charlie, easy. I'm not in the best of shape right now."

"Yeah, you look it," she agreed.

Miles gently pushed her away. "Look, kid, I need your help."

Charlie looked him over. "What you need is a doctor."

"Probably. But that comes later. I need a clean shirt and some water. The rest can wait."

"Miles?"

"Go."

Charlie frowned but hurried off. Miles made himself comfortable against a tree while he waited. "I've got what you need," she said, jogging back. "But you really should have one of the medics look you over."

"I will," Miles agreed. "Later."

"You okay?" Charlie asked as he winced. "What did they do to your chest?"

"That might be sunburn. I've been on the move for three days with no shirt. Help me get this new one on."

Charlie looked at his arm. "What's broken?'

"My wrist."

Charlie undid the sleeves of his ragged shirt and wrapped them around his wrist. "Good thing I brought you one with short sleeves. Let's do this carefully." It was slow going but they managed to get the shirt on him. Then Charlie helped him into a real sling. "How does that feel?"

"I've been worse. Pass me the water."

Charlie helped him drink. "What now?"

"Now we go into camp."

Charlie helped him to his feet and they made their way to the camp. Their entrance didn't go unnoticed. Miles put a finger to his lips to keep the gawkers quiet. This had to be a surprise. Most people were gathered in the center of the camp, enjoying the celebration going on there. Bass was the first to spot them when they approached. "Miles!"

Lucas burst from the crowd and ran to his father. Miles dropped to his knees to hug his son. "My little boy," he murmured.

Lucas clutched his father tight. "Dad," he whispered. "Dad, I thought you were gone."

Miles laughed. It was a wet laugh but it was a laugh all the same. "What? And miss my son turn twelve? No way." He pulled back. "I brought you a present."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Charlie, help me up."

"Miles, are you okay?" Rachel asked, hurrying to his other side.

Miles waved the women away. "I'm fine. It's nothing." He dug into his pocket and came up with a baseball. "Catch," he ordered, tossing it to Lucas.

Lucas caught the easy throw. "Where's this from?" he asked.

"That was mine when I turned twelve," Miles said. "My dad gave it to me. He caught it at a Chicago Cubs game. Bass and I used to toss it around when we were bored on the weekends. Nearly took out a window once." Miles licked his lips. "Bass was always better than I was. But it's yours now."

"Will you teach me how to throw?"

"Course I will. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Laura repeated skeptically.

"Maybe in a few weeks," Miles admitted. "You go enjoy your party. Your mother needs to yell at me."

Lucas hugged his father tight. "You're the best," he said. Then he was running off to show his new present off to his friends.

"That ball was in one of our safe houses," Bass recalled.

"Yeah, just a few miles from here," Miles nodded. "I got it from there."

"I will deal with that later," Laura snapped. "Why is your arm in a sling?"

"Because my wrist is broken."

"You broke your wrist?" Bass frowned.

"No, the soldiers broke it. That's how I slipped my cuffs."

Laura could feel a migraine coming on. "What other injuries do you have?" she sighed.

"Fractured ribs, cuts and bruises, sunburn and a shit ton of new scars."

Laura rubbed her forehead. "We're going to take you to the medic and then you are going to tell me the full story. Bass, Charlie, Rachel, keep your eyes on my son."

Miles cocked an eyebrow. "You sure the story is something you want to hear?"

"Oh I'm sure I'm going to hate it but you'll tell me anyway."

"Fair enough. Point me to the doctor."


End file.
